


End Of Your Rope

by sleepystorm



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hallucinations, Or maybe leftover ALIE code?, Suicide, we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepystorm/pseuds/sleepystorm
Summary: The end of her rope really was a slip to the bottom of a sand crater.Or, what happened before Clarke decided to keep on living.





	End Of Your Rope

**Author's Note:**

> do i know where this came from? no. is it here though? yes
> 
> playlist:  
> clexa theme and blodreina, both by tree adams

_Put the gun down, Clarke._

The blonde started, the sand beneath her knees giving and shifting threateningly. She shifted to dig a heel into the slope on impulse despite the barrel pressed to her temple, the instinct to stay alive rearing its ugly head once again. 

But she was done.

_Done._

“I’m done, do you hear me?” Clarke croaked out, chapped lips barely articulating the edges of her words. Relief was just in her reach, she knew. She could feel it beginning to take root, lightness in her fingertips and heart, dryness on her tongue soothed.

 _You’re not._ Argued back the voice she knew, knew like the back of her hand. Knew it enough to bring her joy, knew it enough to rip a hole of pain into the salve of resignation. _You still have fight in you._

Rapidly, indignation rose in her chest, her shaking hand stilling to grip the gun tighter. _It’s never enough._ She retorted, her eyes squeezing shut. The dehydration biting at her lips and pulling at her willpower told her that tears were not a possibility, but she so wanted them for just a second. Just a second, just for her fight to be over.

 _No._ Agreed that same damnable voice, calm and placid and nothing that she was right now. _It never is._

“I lost everything!” Clarke shouted aloud to cut it off, her free hand curling into a fist to childishly beat at her thigh, the gun in her hand temporarily forgotten to wave it angrily. “I lost my friends!”

_You saved them. You sent them into space. You sent them into their salvation in the bunker._

“My father!” The hysteria was rising up, bubbling up in her throat and making her voice break. “My mother! I have nothing left!” 

“I lost you too,” was the admission left unsaid, so painstakingly obvious, so true and yet untrue that Clarke couldn’t even vocalize it. All she could do was let out a yell, raw and frayed, tearing at her throat and forcing her forward to bend at the waist. There was no echo, no answering call or validation ringing in her ears. There was just a dismissive gust of wind, sand kicking up in its wake.

And silence. No smart response, no quip to make her blood boil at just the perfect temperature. Just a disbelieving smile pulling at the corners of her lips, the beginnings of a laugh to make her cough.

She sniffed, drying the little spittle from her chin that came out, and rose the gun once again.

 _There’s nothing left._ Clarke reasoned quietly. _Nothing. You saw the reactors, you heard ALIE. No one will be alive. There_ is _no one._

 _How do you know?_ Came the equally quiet response.

_ALIE-_

_Lacked the full picture, Clarke. Stand._

Clarke pursed her lips, the dry skin flaking and cracking as she rubbed them together. _Even without the full picture, it’s impossible anyone survived. There are no natblidas, there are no shelters. Wandering will do nothing._

_Clarke…_

_I’m sorry._ Clarke exhaled through her nose, easing her weight back onto her haunches bracingly. She opened her eyes to squint into the harsh yellow light, letting her gaze take a slow pass over the depressed crater she had fallen into. 

The wind kicked up once more, her messy bangs carried upwards and hitting her forehead. Clarke took a steadying breath through her mouth, her chin ducking downward-

 _Clarke!_ It was more insistent this time. Desperate. Not the same, gargling and quiet kind of desperation that looked like warmth stolen out of her body and light abruptly fading away. But a sharp, urgent kind of desperation. Almost the “run with me” desperation.

 _Novitiate training takes place when a natblida turns seven._ The voice added, _That is when they are transported to Polis. Not any time before then._

It was enough to give Clarke pause. She hesitated, that breath leaving her body in a slow swoop. She was left with silence, but an implicative, prompting silence. 

_Don’t._ Clarke shook her head, squashing the hope before it could properly bloom. _It’s impossible that they would be alive with no one to care for them. It’s been weeks, and they would have been handed over f-_

 _Children are resourceful._ The voice said, and it was a gentle prod. _So are their parents, especially against Skaikru machinations._

Clarke couldn’t help but feel the weight of the reproachful tone, and immediately shame gnawed at her stomach. She knew it wasn’t intended to reprimand her, but she turned her chin away from the sun as if it was her mother’s sharp words.

 _But.. they are out there._ Another prod. _And it is likely that they need your help._

She pursed her lips once more, the gun beginning to rattle against her temple. _Don’t. Don’t do this. We know it’s hopeless. Don’t give me hope._

_I’m not, Clarke. I promise._

She opened her mouth, but all she could do was reply _Why not tell me in the first place? If they exist, why not tell me beforehand?_

The answer was just as quick as she anticipated. She never knew her to be any different. _You would have come upon them anyway. Why try to interfere if you didn’t need help?_

Absently, Clarke noted the dryness in the backs of her hands, the vague tearing sensation where the mild radiation burns singed her face. She took her time responding, mulling over her words before asking _Where would I look?_

That, of course, required no further prompting. _Louwada Kliron Kru. There was a set of triplets born just over six years ago, and another few just shy of being taken to Polis._

Clarke hesitated once more, but the ruffling of wings caught her attention. Her gaze shot up, and she spotted the scavenger swooping overhead, over the hill of a dune. She was momentarily stupefied at the sight of another organism that just happened to be _alive_ , and she watched with her mouth agape as it disappeared under the sand.

_Clarke._

_Clarke!_ The voice was calling, until eventually it pulled her from her stupor. _Clarke! A bird surviving means life- prey, and more importantly,_ water _! Go, before you lose its trail!_

Without realizing she was doing so, Clarke dug her palms into the sand to push herself up, then began clawing her way up the sand. Her feet lost ground, and she let out a sound of frustration, a few steps lost to uneven sand. A few steps turned to several, and with growing anger and desperation she exclaimed _Dammit!_

 _You’ve loosened the sand too much. Try a diagonal path._ The voice whispered encouragingly back, and Clarke looked back into the hazy air, trying to memorize the exact spot the vulture disappeared into. _No use. You just need to go up!_

Clarke nodded, anchoring her foot in a firmer patch of ground before pushing to try and take off at a much shallower angle. _Once you get further away, increase the angle._

Helplessly, she wished she was here with her, guiding her, taking her hand to pull her up the hill. Or at least, to just be with her. 

_Now- you are almost to the top. Don’t be quite as aggressive._

Clarke steadied her pace, her balance threatening to fail for one horrifying moment. _If you fall, fall forward!_

She careened forward but didn’t fall, digging her boot into the sand. _Good. Slower now._

Looking up to the few feet separating her from the top, Clarke closed her eyes for just a second. 

_Thank you, Lexa._


End file.
